“Dog Detour”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-18)

Distractions.

For a creative writer, blocking out the static and background noise of life can be useful in focusing on the task of creating a finished manuscript. Yet occasions arise when a detour from the real-time continuum of existing may be desirable. Even welcomed as a blessing.

The current year began with promise, as always. But when only one page had been torn from the calendar, it quickly spun out of control. In February, my sister visited West Virginia, discovering that the situation of our parents had become dire and unsustainable. After battling for years to retain their independence, age and fatigue had won the battle. They left the homestead, never to return.

Dad passed away in April. Mom remained at Mansfield Place.

Handling the care of our mother, in this local nursing home, proved to be more difficult than expected. And all the details had to be directed from across state lines and at a distance of many miles. My own health issues made each journey difficult. I was disabled and on a fixed income. My career as a retail manager had ended, unexpectedly, in 2016. All of these issues created a din of chaotic tones. I struggled to find balance amid the conflicting demands made from one side or another.

Then, last week, I noticed that the left ear of my Black Lab would not lie down.

Suddenly, the gloom that had dominated much of this year blew away in a rush toward necessity. I had only one point of reference – getting Wrangler to the vet. He had not visited since 2015. But I remembered that the ladies at Geneva Veterinary Clinic, near my home in Thompson, were friendly and helpful. A bit of home doctoring seemed to reveal that my pooch had an inner ear infection. I tried to clear away the wax buildup but had only limited success. When making the appointment, I related these facts to the assistant on duty. She agreed that he should visit right away.

The plan was simple enough. Get my canine friend into the passenger seat of our truck and head north. But he had grown older and heavier than three years ago. Meanwhile, I was walking with a cane to support my exhausted knees and debilitated left hip. Also, the F-150 pickup truck I now owned sat higher off the ground than our old Ranger XLT.

Wrangler was able to get his front paws onto the door sill, with effort. He huffed and scratched and whined and wheezed, but climbed no farther without help. I had to steady myself while lifting his hindquarters in the air. Eventually, he spilled onto the truck floor like a sack of Kibbles n Bits, no worse for the experience.

He found a place on the back seat. I felt like his chauffeur, taking the wheel.

At the clinic, he received a friendly welcome. Their scale measured his weight at 94 pounds. We found a place in one of their examination rooms, where Doctor Christi said that his infection woes had caused exaggerated fits of ear flapping. This created a hematoma on one side. Their prognosis was for cleaning, antibiotic treatment and possible surgery in the future. First, however, he needed a steroid to promote healing of the sideways ear.

Wrangler wandered a bit on the way out, stopping to visit everyone and socialize.

At home, I dispensed the mutt medicine hidden in a Vienna Sausage. He took each dose gratefully. After only one day, I noticed that his pain had begun to vanish. A sense of relief took hold.

Our follow-up visit required a similar boost-and-lift entrance to the truck cab. On our way, a traffic hazard appeared, south of Interstate 90. We had to make a sudden stop. I tried to keep him on the seat but his weight overwhelmed my grasp and he crashed on the floor mat like Evel Knievel. 

Fortunately he was no worse for wear after the impact.

Once again, my Black Lab navigated the clinic with undisciplined curiosity. He wanted to visit with the other pet patients. Or, find treats in the drawers. I was embarrassed when he managed to shed a small heap of hair in the exam room. But our cheerful assistant found it amusing.

The ride home had Wrangler perched on his seat like an anxious kid. The no-belt, safety warning kept going off as we drove toward Geauga County. I fiddled with the radio to cover this aggravating sound. He panted with satisfaction while sniffing cool air from the dashboard vents.

At home, after he found a comfortable spot in the living room, I sorted through forwarded mail for my parents. A task not filled with fun. My eyes grew wide upon realizing that, for a few days, the stress of duty and diligence had evaporated. I felt rested by this brief escape.

A dog detour made it possible.

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